The Flames Consume From Within (4/5)
Master Post
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
“Dude, that sucked.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, you picked it,” he responded, knocking Sam with his shoulder as they walked out of the movie theatre. “Again. What is it with you and crappy movies? Who knew an action movie with Bruce Willis could be so bad?”
Sam laughed. “Well, the guy’s getting on in years, you know.”
Dean nodded his assent. It was second nature for him to reach out and link his fingers with Sam just then. He had become so comfortable with Sam, so familiar, that he hardly thought things through anymore. The guys at the station had taken the news of their relationship a lot better than he’d ever expected; they’d even taken to teasing them about it. Life was good, life was very good.
“What you’re smiling about?” Sam asked, jarring him out of his thoughts.
Dean looked over at him, noticing the alley behind Sam, and ducked into it, pressing Sam against the brick wall of the Chinese restaurant. “I was smiling about this,” he murmured against Sam’s lips right before he pried them open with his tongue.
Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth, easily sliding his tongue against Dean’s. Dean loved that feeling, having Sam underneath his hands, at his mercy, writhing against him like he was in pain of the best kind. He knew that he would never get enough, that he wanted to be able to experience this for the rest of his life.
Not for the last time, he wondered just what he’d done to deserve someone like Sam. Dean knew that he had never been the best person; two handfuls of bar fights back in Kansas, and a string of one-night stands between Lawrence and Milwaukee more than proved that. He’d partied away his attempt at a college education and ignored the pressure to join the Marines, leaving his father with no pride in him. Hell, he’d barely managed to graduate from high school.
But he wasn’t that guy anymore. Sam had changed him, made him want to be better. Sam made him strive for something, for a feeling he’d never been able to hold onto before. Sam made him happy. Isn’t that what everyone wanted out of life?
“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
The sound of something solid hitting skin is what made Dean snap away from Sam. He turned to find Jake standing there, baseball bat in one hand, smacking it into the other.
“Jake?” Dean asked dumbly, confusion evident. “What the hell?”
Jake just sneered at them, face twisted in an ugly expression. “I never would have pegged you for a fag, Deano.”
“A what?” Dean spluttered. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought we were friends.”
Jake laughed, a very unpleasant sound. “Friends? I’m not friends with scum like you.”
Dean had opened his mouth to say something else as he stepped in front of Sam when another figure stepped out of the shadows, effectively blocking their way out of the alley. He hadn’t even realized that they’d gone that far in, and with just Jake, they could have gotten out unscathed with a simple double team maneuver , but two people made that more difficult. Especially when he saw the glint of silver, from the metal blade of a pocket knife as the second person stepped in closer.
He couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him as the second person stepped into the pool of light provided by the dingy street lamp.
“Gordon?” Sam whispered.
Dean could feel his heart rate pick up as he realized the full extent of what they were up against. Jake was strong, but on the scrawny side, and could easily be taken down by Dean’s bulk or Sam’s height. But Gordon was much more of a force to be reckoned with - Dean had seen him pick up hefty Bobby Singer without so much as a grimace.
“What the hell are you trying to pull, Walker?” Dean spat. “You’re better than this, I know you are.”
“Am I, Winchester?” Gordon said. He spoke in that same, calm, near-monotone voice that Dean had always secretly admired him for - you never quite knew what was really going on in Gordon’s head. “Maybe there are simply some things you don’t know about me. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Gordon smiled, and Jake smacked the bat into his hand again.
Dean knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He and Sam were not going to get out of this unscathed. He backed up a step, maneuvering Sam right behind him, so that there was practically no space between them. If a fight was going to break out, they were going to have to go through him before they laid a finger on Sam.
“Aww, look at that,” Jake teased. “Good ol’ Deano’s trying to protect his boy.”
Gordon laughed, twirling the knife in his hand as he took a step closer to Dean and Sam. “It’s not really going to matter, you know. As soon as we slit your throat, Sam’s death is only a second away.”
Something clicked in Dean’s brain, a sickening feeling settling deep in his stomach.
“S-slit our throats?” he gritted out. He reached behind him and grabbed Sam’s hand. He couldn’t believe that he was actually thinking this about two of his coworkers, but it made sense. If anyone could be that single-minded, put so much hate behind one thing, Gordon Walker would be that man.
“Oh, God,” Sam whispered from behind him, squeezing Dean’s hand. “No…no. It can’t…couldn’t have been…”
Jake’s low chuckle seemed to make Gordon’s smile grow wider, more menacing. “You best believe it was,” he tossed out like it was nothing. “Couldn’t let filth like that roam the streets, could we?”
Dean laughed incredulously. “So, what? You two took it on yourselves to rid Milwaukee of all the gay people?”
Gordon nodded. “Something like that. They infect people with their disease. Just look at you, Dean. You were straight, until Sammy here came along.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” Sam growled, stepping out from behind Dean and taking a step forward.
Dean shook head. “Sam, now is not the time.”
Sam didn’t even look at him; he just took another step toward Gordon and Jake. Dean grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, but Sam just shook him off.
“I am tired of people like you, Gordon,” he snarled. “There are always assholes like you, telling people who they should be. I’m tired of being labeled for being who I am. I’m tired of being shunned because I’m different. I’m tired of running from my past because I’ve been told it’s something to be ashamed of. I’m tired of living on the outskirts of society. And I am so sick and tired of people. Like. You.”
In a move so quick that it even surprised Dean, Sam knocked the pocket knife out of Gordon’s hand and tackled him in one smooth motion.
Dean and Jake both just blinked at the scene in front of them. Sam and Gordon were wrestling on the ground, knife kicked eight feet away from where they were fighting. He saw Sam get a good punch in at Gordon’s jaw before he saw Jake lunging for them, baseball braced in on hand.
Dean didn’t even think. He just launched himself at Jake, grabbing the baseball bat in both hands and trying to rip it away. But Jake was ready for him. He pulled the bat out of Dean’s grip and swung, catching Dean in the stomach and causing him to double over with a loud grunt.
He could hear the air rushing past his ear as Jake pulled the bat back to get it another hit, and dropped the ground, barely dodging the swing. Still catching his breath, he reached out and pulled Jake’s feet from under him, smiling ruefully as Jake crashed to the ground, bat skittering away in the darkness.
He didn’t have much time to react before Jake was on him again, knocking him onto his back and straddling his waist. The weight on his ribs, which Dean was sure were at least bruised, caused Dean’s breath to catch in his throat, and he wasn’t able to block Jake’s punch, the hit catching him on the nose. Pain flared up behind both of Dean’s eyes, and he shut them, raising both arms in front of his face to block anymore hits.
Jake’s next punch connected with Dean’s jaw. Then he grabbed Dean’s head and slammed it back against the pavement, causing stars to explode behind Dean’s eyes, vision blackening at the edges.
Through the pounding in his head, Dean strained his ears to hear what was happening with Sam, but all he could make out was scuffling and curses. He had no idea who was winning that fight. But he couldn’t leave Sam alone.
So he opened his eyes and sat up in one fluid movement. The pain from his ribs slowed him down, but it was enough to jar Jake off of him and send him toppling over. Without so much as a second thought, Dean crawled over Jake, landing a punch to his kidney. He flipped Jake over, and punched him in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch of Jake’s nose breaking underneath his fist. At least he could thank his father for something.
Jake howled in pain and clutched his face with both hands, blood trickling from underneath. Dean looked over to where he’d last seen Sam and saw that Sam was sitting atop an obviously unconscious Gordon, still swinging.
Ignoring the pain and the blood on his own face, he staggered over to Sam and pulled his boyfriend off Gordon just as sirens sounded in the distance.
He pulled Sam up, wincing at the pull on his stomach, and grabbed Sam’s face in both of his hands. Sam’s left eye was red and swelling fast, and his lip was split, blood sliding down over his chin and staining his teeth. He was clutching his left arm to his chest, but Dean couldn’t see any other obvious injuries. It looked like Sammy could take care of himself after all.
Sam tried to smile at him, but Dean thought it looked more painful than victorious. He threw Dean’s arm around his shoulders and, leaning heavily on each other, they made their way out of the alley just as the owner of the Chinese restaurant came running out.
“I call police,” she said in heavily-accented English. “They on their way.”
Dean nodded, squinting his eyes against the bright light of the restaurant’s neon signs. He could feel himself swaying on his feet and Sam’s concerned voice rang in his ear, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. His vision was blurring, shapes and sounds mixing together to increase the pounding in Dean’s head.
The last thing he felt before the world went black was Sam’s arms tightening around him.
* * *
Sam wasn’t really sure that he should be at Dean’s door, but he knocked nonetheless, making sure to keep a good grip on the Tupperware dish he had cradled in his left arm. Bobby had finally let him return to work after meeting with Cheryl and gaining some sort of closure, so it had been a couple days since he’d seen Dean. It had been 48 hours, to be exact.
With two hours still left in his shift, Andy, Anson and Roland had all shuffled him out the door with some of the lasagna that Roland had made for dinner that night; Andy promised him that he would clock him out so he would get credit for his entire shift. Sam couldn’t help but smile at the actions of his friends. He guessed it was pretty obvious that he was missing Dean like a lost limb.
But what could he say? He loved the guy. And he had a sinking feeling that Dean needed him.
When the door of Dean’s apartment finally opened, five minutes after Sam’s first knock, the sight that Sam was greeted with surprised him. He’d only seen Dean’s mother a handful of times, but even he could tell that something was bothering her. Her blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking unkempt, and her eyes were nearly bloodshot, tired lines appearing around the green orbs.
“Oh, Sam, hello” she said, with a small smile on her face, some of the light returning to her eyes. “Dean’s been asking about you. Come on in.”
Sam smiled back at her, hoping the effort proved to be more successful than hers had been. “How’s he doing?” he asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Going stir crazy yet?”
Mary nodded absently, looking around distractedly. “Something like that,” she mumbled. Then she noticed what he carried in his hands. “Please don’t tell me you brought him cookies. I don’t think sugar mixes well with pain meds. Not with Winchesters, anyway.” Her smile was a little more genuine then.
Sam chuckled. “No, it’s lasagna, exactly,” he told her. “The guys at the station knew that Dean wouldn’t have anything edible in his house and, after nothing but hospital food for a month, they figured he’d want some of Roland’s cooking. You should hear Dean rave about it during meals. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.”
Mary laughed then, a high, tinkling sound that somehow reminded him of Dean. “Well, he has been complaining about the take-out we’ve been supplying him with.”
She turned and walked further into the apartment, turning into a doorway on the left that would lead to the living room. Sam followed, wondering just what he’d managed to interrupt. Mary was obviously deep in thought about something, and he was sure it wasn’t good.
As he turned into the living room, he couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of déjà vu. The scene was eerily like that in the hospital a couple weeks earlier, when Dean and his father had been arguing.
Mary cleared her throat, somehow making the sound come across as threatening, and both Winchester men turned toward the doorway to see Sam standing there. John’s face darkened at the intrusion, while Dean’s face broke into a wide grin.
“Sammy!” Dean called out, waving from his position on the couch. He was sitting sideways, legs propped up on some pillows, gray sweatpants big enough to slide on over the cast he still wore. He looked exhausted, but good. His hair was washed, and his green T-shirt made his eyes sparkle that much more.
“Do you mind?” John growled. “We were having a family discussion.”
Sam stood rooted to the spot, mouth opening to apologize profusely, but Mary cut in. “John Winchester, you will not speak to Dean’s friend like that,” she warned. “As a matter of fact, I think that we could use a break from this so-called discussion.” She turned to Sam, smile firmly back in place. “Sam, would you mind sitting with Dean for a couple hours? I’m afraid if I don’t get out of this apartment, one of these boys won’t live past tonight.”
Sam smiled at her tensely, acutely aware of John’s eyes boring holes into him. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. You two go have a nice dinner or something.”
Mary nodded back at him, moving around the room to gather keys and coats. She practically pushed John out into the hallway. Before she followed, though, she gave Sam a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You make him talk to you, Sam. Maybe you can shed some light,” she whispered.
Once the front door was shut behind Dean’s parents, Sam couldn’t stop himself from returning the smile that Dean was giving him. “God, I missed you,” Dean whispered.
Sam was across the room in four long strides, setting the lasagna on the coffee table and kneeling in front of Dean. He wasted no time in pulling Dean’s face to his, the kiss possessive and apologetic at the same time. “I missed you, too,” he mumbled against Dean’s lips.
Dean huffed out a laugh and pulled back, both hands coming up to twist in Sam’s hair. He looked down at Sam for a minute, eyes moving across Sam’s face, as though he were trying to memorize it. When Sam’s brow furrowed, Dean leaned forward and kissed them away.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, covering Dean’s hands with his own. “Did they say something?”
Dean shook his head, smiling sadly. “You know that lady’s hearing was today? She pleaded guilty, no contest. They’re sentencing her next week.”
Sam nodded. He’d known that; Anson had actually gone to the courthouse so that he could report back in full detail.
Dean didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, biting down on his lip and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, those eyes were filled with tears, green shining brightly. Sam swallowed audibly - he didn’t think he was going to like what was coming next.
“They’re pushing for me to go home again,” Dean whispered, as if speaking softly would make the situation go away. “Dad, he… He thinks that I need to be near family, near people who can look after me. I think my mom might agree with him.”
Sam nodded, turning his face into one of Dean’s hands, kissing the palm. He ran his fingers over the scarring on Dean’s left wrist. “What do you think?” he asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted the answer.
“I don’t know,” Dean responded sadly. “The physical therapist, today, said that it might be a month before I can move around on my own. Then at least another month before I’ll be in any kind of shape to return to work. That’s only if I push myself. There’s a chance that I may never be able to go back to firefighting. In Kansas, I. My parents. They’ll help me, pull some strings to get me some job that I’ll never be happy with. But at least I’ll have money…”
When Dean trailed off, Sam let his hands drop, missing Dean’s warmth when they fell back to his lap. He looked down at the floor, sitting back onto his heels. He reached down and fidgeted with the worn carpet for a minute before he ventured, “What about me?”
Dean pulled his chin up, thumb running along his jaw as he forced their eyes to meet. “I love you, Sammy. But I don’t know what to do here. I need help making this decision. I’m going to need help. I can’t do this on my own, get back on my feet - figuratively or literally,” he joked. Sam couldn’t help but smile. Good ol’ Dean.
He sobered up quick enough though, pulling his head out of Dean’s grip. “I can’t make that decision for you,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I won’t tell you what to do. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little biased here.”
Dean looked at him then with a strange look in his eyes; Sam couldn’t define it. It was part want, pupils slightly blown and pushing back the green. It was part love, emotion so overwhelming that it bled into every aspect of who they were. But, there were other things that muddied it up. Hurt. Sadness. Expectation. Helplessness.
“Kiss me,” Dean whispered, so softly Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.
“What?”
“Kiss me,” Dean repeated, nodding his head for emphasis.
Sam still didn’t comprehend. How had they gone from possible loss to a request like that? When Dean didn’t get the response he wanted, he took the action away from Sam and surged forward, grabbing Sam’s head in his hands.
Their lips met harshly, and Sam wasted no time in opening his mouth, angling his head just so to deepen the kiss. He reached up to grab on Dean’s leg, kneading gently enough not to hurt him. Dean groaned then, pulling Sam forward more, trying to press them closer together.
Sam climbed up onto the couch, never losing contact with Dean’s mouth, and straddled Dean’s legs. He made sure to keep most of his weight on his own legs, trusting Dean to tell him if things got to be too much.
His hands began to roam, wanting to touch every part of Dean that he could, blunt fingernails dragging over the roughened, sensitive skin of his back. Dean arched into Sam, causing their erections to come into contact with each other. Sam couldn’t stop himself from grinding down, causing Dean to whine, Sam’s lips and teeth and tongue swallowing every noise that passed his lips.
Dean moved one hand down to Sam’s jeans, deftly undoing the fly and slipping his hand inside once they were opened. He pulled Sam’s half-hard dick out of the slit in his boxers, jacking him to full hardness. It was dry and rough, and Sam wanted it to hurt just that little bit, wanted to remember this forever, this need that could fill them both without warning.
As precum began to coat the way for Dean’s hand, Sam broke their kiss, moving his lips down to Dean’s jaw, licking and sucking his way along the still-healing scar. Dean gasped at the feeling, rocking his hips into Sam’s thigh for friction.
Sam took pity and stopped his exploration of Dean’s body, with its new hotspots to find, and slipped one hand past the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants, smiling when he found no underwear. He started to push Dean’s pants down, and Dean arched his hips off the couch to help, never losing his rhythm on Sam’s cock. Once the offending material was out of the way, Sam stroked him in earnest.
The angle was awkward, and his wrist would be throbbing afterwards, but it was one of the hottest things Sam had even witnessed. They were in the middle of Dean’s spacious living room, big bay window looking out onto the city right behind them. The apartment was only on the second floor, allowing anyone with good vision to see exactly what was going on.
On top of the slight voyeuristic factor, Dean was writhing underneath his touch, fucking into his fist and arching his neck to give Sam more access to his jaw, to the sensitive skin there. And the noises Dean was making, small groans and whimpers, were going straight to Sam’s cock.
“S-sammy,” Dean stuttered out. “G-gonna…s’been a while.”
Sam nodded, pulling away from Dean’s jaw and blowing cool air across the scar. “I think this is my new favorite spot,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”
Dean groaned head thumping back against the arm of the couch. “Didn’t know scars were so hot. Else I would’ve cut myself up years ago,” he huffed.
Sam chuckled, moving down Dean’s neck, groaning when Dean tightened his grip on his dick. Dean was right: it had been a while. In dealing with Dean’s foray into near-death, Sam hadn’t been too concerned with sex, either with Dean or his own right hand. But now that he was actively engaged in it, he realized just how much he’d missed this, having Dean with him, under him.
He could feel his balls drawing up, his release too near. When he came a few strokes later, Dean forced their mouths together again, muffling Sam’s moan and sucking it into his mouth along with his tongue. Dean milked him through it, and then moved his hand to his own dick, Sam’s cum helping ease the way and speed up their combined hands.
Sam wanted more than just the taste of Dean’s mouth, traces of coffee lingering. He pulled away from Dean’s mouth and slid further down on the couch, removing their hands from Dean’s dick, smiling when Dean groaned.
“Shh, s’okay,” he murmured, his breath puffing out across Dean’s dick and making him shiver.
Sam smiled and leaned forward to lick a strip up the flushed shaft. Tasting his own cum had his dick twitching in a pathetic attempt to get hard again. When he wrapped his lips around the bulbous head, Dean made a small thrusting movement, letting out a long groan.
Sam held his hips down with one hand and wrapped the other around his shaft, stroking him in counteraction as he began to bob his head up and down, hollowing out his cheeks and running his tongue along the vein on the underside of Dean’s dick. Dean had already warned him that he was close, so Sam didn’t hold back, wanting Dean to simply fall apart. He was ruthless, sucking hard in counterpoint to the teasing action of his fingers, not gripping nearly tight enough for Dean’s liking.
Dean’s hands tangling in his hair, was the only real warning Sam got, considering Dean’s words were only half-formed grunts and moans. He pulled back just in time, letting Dean’s cum flow across his tongue. He stroked Dean through his orgasm, pulling off with an obscene pop when Dean tugged on his hair.
He smiled up at Dean and laid his head on Dean’s thigh, the plaster of his cast cool even through the sweatpants. Dean had a lazy smile on his face, and he was staring up at the ceiling. He was still threading his fingers through Sam’s hair, the movement soothing as Sam closed his eyes.
But then reality came crashing back.
Sam opened his eyes and sat up, tucking himself back into his jeans. Dean seemed to know exactly what he was thinking because his smile slowly faded, and they were left to just stare at each other.
“They really want to take you away?” Sam whispered after a few minutes, slicing through the tension. He couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice.
Dean nodded. “They really do,” he responded. “But, hey, I’ve got a few days to decide what to do, okay? So, let’s just not worry about it. Please? Can we just eat Roland’s awesome cooking and be us for a little while? I’m tired of people treating me differently… I just want to be me again, Sammy. And I need you for that.”
Dean looked so broken in that moment, more honest and open that Sam had ever seen him. Sam stood up with a murmured agreement and walked into the kitchen to heat up the lasagna, leaving Dean alone to make himself decent again.
He didn’t want to see Dean cry almost as much as he didn’t want Dean to see him do the same.
* * *
The only thing that Dean was really aware of as he came to was the pounding in his head. He risked opening his eyes a little only to slam them shut again as the bright lights assaulted his senses.
“Oh, hey, he’s awake,” came Sam’s voice from somewhere to the right. “Turn off that light, would you?”
There was a scuffling noise and the click of a switch, and then there was a hand brushing across his forehead. “Sammy?” he whispered, wondering where he was.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam responded quietly. “It’s me.”
“What…where…?”
“You’re in the hospital. Don’t you remember what happened?”
It all came rushing back in one big rush - Gordon, Jake, the bat, the confession. Dean groaned, chancing to open his eyes again. He was thankful that the overhead lights had been turned off, but that meant he could just barely see Sam’s silhouette.
“What happened after I passed out?” he asked, groping blindly in the dark for Sam’s hand. He smiled when Sam linked their fingers together and bent down to kiss his forehead.
“Oh, God, gag me with a spoon.”
Dean turned his head to squint at the other side of the room. He could make out two figures, and for a minute, he actually feared that Jake and Gordon had followed them to the hospital, but then Andy stepped closer, moonlight falling against his features. That meant that the other person could only be Anson.
“Shut it, Anson,” Sam tossed over his shoulder, not looking away from Dean. “You’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, because I want some of that hot male action,” was the retort.
Sam smiled - Dean could see the outside light glinting off his white teeth - but, even in the dim light, it was evident that it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Can you guys give us a few minutes?” Sam asked softly.
Andy and Anson both murmured their agreement and walked out, shutting the door softly behind them.
A weird sort of silence settled over them for a few minutes, a tension that was unnerving to Dean simply because he had never before experienced that sort of uncomfortable feeling with Sam. The unease that had begun at Sam’s fake smile began to grow, until it was gnawing at his insides.
“Well?” he finally prompted.
Sam stopped looking around the room, letting his eyes come to rest on Dean again. Since his eyes had become more adjusted to the pale light, he could see that Sam’s face had been cleaned up. His eye was swollen half-shut, the skin around it dark and discolored. His jaw also seemed to be bruised, but his split lip had closed up. There seemed to be a sling on his left shoulder, too.
It was only then that Dean even bothered to wonder about his own injuries. He remembered the intense pain in his stomach, but he couldn’t feel that now. He just had a headache.
As if Sam could see what was going on in his head, he said, “You bruised a couple ribs. Jake must’ve been pretty good with that bat. You’ve also got a concussion, and your cheek’s swollen, but that’ll go away in a couple days. You’re on painkillers, in case you’re wondering why you’re not in a lot of pain.”
Dean nodded. “As for Gordon and Jake?”
Sam sighed. “Well. They’re in custody. The police got there before Gordon was conscious again, and Jake was still whimpering about his nose. I never thought Jake would be such a wimp.”
Dean smiled at that. “Well, I never thought a lot of things that turned out to be true about them,” he said, effectively killing the light moment, smile fading.
“We might have to testify or something,” Sam mumbled. “You’ll have to give a statement. Tomorrow or something. Doctor just wants to keep you overnight, then you’re free to go home.”
“Sammy?” Dean knew that something was wrong. There was something on Sam’s mind that he wasn’t saying. “Talk to me.”
Sam snorted. “Didn’t you tell me once that ‘chick-flick’ moments weren’t allowed?”
Dean smiled, though it was half-hearted. But still, he said, “I know something’s bothering you.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing, really. Look, you should…you need to get some rest, okay?”
Dean just nodded, letting Sam walk out the door with a small kiss. He had a lot of thinking to do, though he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going without Sam to distract him.
Gordon and Jake’s reactions were exactly what he’d been afraid of, what had made him hesitant to admit his sexuality even to himself. But Sam had made that all better. Sam had made all the bad feelings go away. And he’d still gotten attacked for it.
When Dean was in high school, and even during his two attempted years at Kansas State, he’d always wondered if being happy was worth the effort. All of his friends just seemed to get their heart broken when they were at the top of their game. That’s why he’d never bothered with a real relationship.
The closest he’d come to a relationship had ended with Cassie stomping all over his heart simply because he’d confided in her, told her that he thought he might be bi. She’d accused him of just looking for an out, screaming at him as she threw what few clothes he’d accumulated at her apartment out the third story window.
He’d left for Milwaukee three days later.
No, being happy wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth all the crap that came along with it. He was happy with Sam, but he’d always had his reservations about the relationship. He’d fallen hard, and he knew that it would kill him if he broke up with Sam, but at least that feeling would go away. It would get better. And he would much rather have it be on his terms than wait for things to come crashing down around him.
Maybe the decision was rash, but he had to break up with Sam.
* * *
Sam knew he was losing the game, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, even if it did mean he was losing money. If he actually thought about it, he’d probably find it pretty sad. He’d hustled pool to get the money to leave Missouri so, if anything, he and Andy should be wiping the floor with Anson and Henricksen.
”Dude, you suck!” Andy exclaimed as Anson sunk the eight ball.
“What?” Sam responded, startling out of his thoughts. He looked up to find all three of his friends looking at him in concern. “Sorry, guys,” he said sheepishly. “Guess my head’s not really here tonight.”
“C’mon, let’s just grab a table and order a fresh round,” Henricksen suggested, already snapping his cue onto the rack on the wall.
Sam was only vaguely aware of nodding and handing over his cue. He followed Andy over to a table in the back, accidentally stumbling into an empty chair that was pushed out too far. He sat down and took the beer that Anson pressed into his hand with a mumbled, “Thanks.”
“So, tell us what’s eating at you, kid,” Henricksen said as he sat down on Sam’s right side and Andy settled in on the left. Anson filled the chair right across from Sam, and even he was looking worried.
Sam sighed, sinking farther down into his seat and picking at his bottle’s label. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell them what was going on, especially since he didn’t really know where his head was on the whole thing. On the one hand, he wanted to be selfish and beg Dean to stay with him. He wanted to get down on his knees and grovel if that’s what it took. But, on the other hand, he knew that his parents might have a good point. Dean would need help getting around, and they were more than willing to take on the responsibility. Even if John’s attitude about the whole thing bothered him.
The real question of the whole ordeal was simple: would Sam be willing to take on the role of Dean’s caretaker? It wouldn’t be a permanent thing, but it would still be a month or two out of his life, time that he could use to work and make money. He’d already lost Dean once, and he’d been absolutely miserable, feeling like half of his body had been ripped away from him. And that had been before they’d actually admitted their feelings for each other. But now that he knew how much Dean loved him? He wasn’t sure he could just walk away from that. Dean had nearly died for him…how do you just turn your back on something like that?
“We’re not getting any younger here,” Andy said, bringing Sam out of his thoughts again.
Sam looked around at his friends, giving them all a small grin. “Sorry,” he answered. “So, uh…”
“We already know it’s about Dean, just get to the problem part of it.” Sam, Andy and Henricksen flipped Anson the bird.
“Okay, well. His parents want him to go back to Kansas,” he blurted out in a rush.
“What?!” Henricksen and Andy shouted, getting them glares from several surrounding tables.
Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, chuckling slightly. “That was my reaction too, though it was probably internally. Since we were in a hospital and all.”
Anson snorted.
“So, wait. Why do they want him back in Kansas?” Henricksen asked. “Wasn’t he pretty much miserable there?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he was. But he’s going to need someone to help him getting around, what with the damaged muscles and the broken leg. It’s going to be at least a month of physical therapy before he can walk on his own.”
“Well,” Andy began thoughtfully. “Why can’t we do that?”
Sam was sure that the look on his face would have been comical if he weren’t so shocked. “W-what?” he spluttered. “We?”
“Yeah,” Henricksen answered, nodding his head emphatically. “We’ll just talk to Bobby, make sure that there’s always one of us off to get him to his appointments and everything.”
Sam turned his gaping from Andy to Henricksen. “But, Vic…man, you hate helping sick people. Remember when your mom had pneumonia and you had to go stay with her for a few days? You were calling the station every twenty minutes for someone to complain to!”
“But, this is different,” Henricksen insisted. “For one, Dean is not my mother, which means no guilt trips. And, two, Dean’s cool, man. There won’t be near as much whining.”
Anson snorted again. “Apparently, you’ve never met Dean.”
Andy smacked Anson in the back of the head.
“Look, guys, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment, but this is Dean we’re talking about,” Sam reasoned, holding his hands up to stave off any protests. “He’s not just going to accept help like this.”
“Maybe not at first, and maybe not from us…” Andy began.
Then Anson finished, “But you know he’ll listen to you.”
Henricksen sighed. “I really hate it when you do that freaky, finishing-each-other’s-sentences, twin-thing.”
As everyone laughed, Sam looked around at his friends. At Dean’s friends. Maybe it really was that simple.
* * *
“Do you have any idea what you look like? What he looks like?” Andy screamed, storming into Dean’s apartment without preamble. “What the fuck are you trying to pull?!”
Dean winced as Andy slammed his keys down on Dean’s kitchen table, where he’d been trying to ease the pounding in his head with a nice, cool beer. Until that beer was rudely ripped out of his hands, of course.
“Dude, what the hell?” Dean yelled indignantly. “I was drinking that!”
“Yeah, you were drinking that. You’re not anymore,” Andy said as he poured the beer into the kitchen sink. “All you’ve been doing for the two weeks is drink, Dean!”
Yeah, okay. Dean could admit that he wasn’t doing so well. He’d broken up with Sam practically the second he’d gotten out of the hospital. Sam had looked a bit crestfallen, but he’d nodded his agreement with Dean’s reasoning, although it sounded pathetic even to Dean’s ears, and walked away. Dean had been out of work on doctor’s orders until his ribs were fully healed. And, since then, he’d been mixing his pain medication with alcohol, leading to some serious emotion-numbing.
Andy sat down next to Dean at the table, sliding a glass of water in front of him. Dean muttered his thanks and downed half the glass in one go.
“He’s miserable, Dean,” Andy spat out, looking Dean right in the eye. “I mean, sure, Sam’s not usually a happy-go-lucky kind of person. He’s usually pretty reserved. Or he was. Until he started dating you. He opened up then. But, now…man, he’s bypassed normal angsting and gone straight to downright moping. I swear, if he weren’t surrounded by us, he’d have been crying his geeky eyes out. He’s even stopped asking questions about everything. It’s like he doesn’t even care anymore.”
Dean didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to know how sad Sam was; that just made his own depression even worse. And, that was saying something because Dean was pretty out of it. There hadn’t been a sober moment since he’d gotten home from giving his statement to the police two weeks ago.
And he was expected to be at work the next day. With one Sam Wells.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Andy,” he whispered brokenly, dropping his head onto the table with a soft thunk. “I don’t know why I did it. I’ve been trying to figure that out since the second I did it. It’s just… We were attacked. By friends of ours! Just because we were together. I was messed up, and on painkillers and confused. I had it in my head that happiness just wasn’t worth it. Not if this is what happens when you finally get that. Andy…why am I so fucked up?”
He could feel tears slipping down his face, and he couldn’t stop them. When Andy squeezed his shoulder, they just flowed faster, sobs beginning to wrack his body. “I’m so sorry, Andy,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know…I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“I know, man,” Andy said softly, squeezing his shoulder again. “Just talk to him.”
Dean just continued to cry.
* * *
Part Five
_
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
“Dude, that sucked.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, you picked it,” he responded, knocking Sam with his shoulder as they walked out of the movie theatre. “Again. What is it with you and crappy movies? Who knew an action movie with Bruce Willis could be so bad?”
Sam laughed. “Well, the guy’s getting on in years, you know.”
Dean nodded his assent. It was second nature for him to reach out and link his fingers with Sam just then. He had become so comfortable with Sam, so familiar, that he hardly thought things through anymore. The guys at the station had taken the news of their relationship a lot better than he’d ever expected; they’d even taken to teasing them about it. Life was good, life was very good.
“What you’re smiling about?” Sam asked, jarring him out of his thoughts.
Dean looked over at him, noticing the alley behind Sam, and ducked into it, pressing Sam against the brick wall of the Chinese restaurant. “I was smiling about this,” he murmured against Sam’s lips right before he pried them open with his tongue.
Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth, easily sliding his tongue against Dean’s. Dean loved that feeling, having Sam underneath his hands, at his mercy, writhing against him like he was in pain of the best kind. He knew that he would never get enough, that he wanted to be able to experience this for the rest of his life.
Not for the last time, he wondered just what he’d done to deserve someone like Sam. Dean knew that he had never been the best person; two handfuls of bar fights back in Kansas, and a string of one-night stands between Lawrence and Milwaukee more than proved that. He’d partied away his attempt at a college education and ignored the pressure to join the Marines, leaving his father with no pride in him. Hell, he’d barely managed to graduate from high school.
But he wasn’t that guy anymore. Sam had changed him, made him want to be better. Sam made him strive for something, for a feeling he’d never been able to hold onto before. Sam made him happy. Isn’t that what everyone wanted out of life?
“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
The sound of something solid hitting skin is what made Dean snap away from Sam. He turned to find Jake standing there, baseball bat in one hand, smacking it into the other.
“Jake?” Dean asked dumbly, confusion evident. “What the hell?”
Jake just sneered at them, face twisted in an ugly expression. “I never would have pegged you for a fag, Deano.”
“A what?” Dean spluttered. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought we were friends.”
Jake laughed, a very unpleasant sound. “Friends? I’m not friends with scum like you.”
Dean had opened his mouth to say something else as he stepped in front of Sam when another figure stepped out of the shadows, effectively blocking their way out of the alley. He hadn’t even realized that they’d gone that far in, and with just Jake, they could have gotten out unscathed with a simple double team maneuver , but two people made that more difficult. Especially when he saw the glint of silver, from the metal blade of a pocket knife as the second person stepped in closer.
He couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him as the second person stepped into the pool of light provided by the dingy street lamp.
“Gordon?” Sam whispered.
Dean could feel his heart rate pick up as he realized the full extent of what they were up against. Jake was strong, but on the scrawny side, and could easily be taken down by Dean’s bulk or Sam’s height. But Gordon was much more of a force to be reckoned with - Dean had seen him pick up hefty Bobby Singer without so much as a grimace.
“What the hell are you trying to pull, Walker?” Dean spat. “You’re better than this, I know you are.”
“Am I, Winchester?” Gordon said. He spoke in that same, calm, near-monotone voice that Dean had always secretly admired him for - you never quite knew what was really going on in Gordon’s head. “Maybe there are simply some things you don’t know about me. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Gordon smiled, and Jake smacked the bat into his hand again.
Dean knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He and Sam were not going to get out of this unscathed. He backed up a step, maneuvering Sam right behind him, so that there was practically no space between them. If a fight was going to break out, they were going to have to go through him before they laid a finger on Sam.
“Aww, look at that,” Jake teased. “Good ol’ Deano’s trying to protect his boy.”
Gordon laughed, twirling the knife in his hand as he took a step closer to Dean and Sam. “It’s not really going to matter, you know. As soon as we slit your throat, Sam’s death is only a second away.”
Something clicked in Dean’s brain, a sickening feeling settling deep in his stomach.
“S-slit our throats?” he gritted out. He reached behind him and grabbed Sam’s hand. He couldn’t believe that he was actually thinking this about two of his coworkers, but it made sense. If anyone could be that single-minded, put so much hate behind one thing, Gordon Walker would be that man.
“Oh, God,” Sam whispered from behind him, squeezing Dean’s hand. “No…no. It can’t…couldn’t have been…”
Jake’s low chuckle seemed to make Gordon’s smile grow wider, more menacing. “You best believe it was,” he tossed out like it was nothing. “Couldn’t let filth like that roam the streets, could we?”
Dean laughed incredulously. “So, what? You two took it on yourselves to rid Milwaukee of all the gay people?”
Gordon nodded. “Something like that. They infect people with their disease. Just look at you, Dean. You were straight, until Sammy here came along.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” Sam growled, stepping out from behind Dean and taking a step forward.
Dean shook head. “Sam, now is not the time.”
Sam didn’t even look at him; he just took another step toward Gordon and Jake. Dean grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, but Sam just shook him off.
“I am tired of people like you, Gordon,” he snarled. “There are always assholes like you, telling people who they should be. I’m tired of being labeled for being who I am. I’m tired of being shunned because I’m different. I’m tired of running from my past because I’ve been told it’s something to be ashamed of. I’m tired of living on the outskirts of society. And I am so sick and tired of people. Like. You.”
In a move so quick that it even surprised Dean, Sam knocked the pocket knife out of Gordon’s hand and tackled him in one smooth motion.
Dean and Jake both just blinked at the scene in front of them. Sam and Gordon were wrestling on the ground, knife kicked eight feet away from where they were fighting. He saw Sam get a good punch in at Gordon’s jaw before he saw Jake lunging for them, baseball braced in on hand.
Dean didn’t even think. He just launched himself at Jake, grabbing the baseball bat in both hands and trying to rip it away. But Jake was ready for him. He pulled the bat out of Dean’s grip and swung, catching Dean in the stomach and causing him to double over with a loud grunt.
He could hear the air rushing past his ear as Jake pulled the bat back to get it another hit, and dropped the ground, barely dodging the swing. Still catching his breath, he reached out and pulled Jake’s feet from under him, smiling ruefully as Jake crashed to the ground, bat skittering away in the darkness.
He didn’t have much time to react before Jake was on him again, knocking him onto his back and straddling his waist. The weight on his ribs, which Dean was sure were at least bruised, caused Dean’s breath to catch in his throat, and he wasn’t able to block Jake’s punch, the hit catching him on the nose. Pain flared up behind both of Dean’s eyes, and he shut them, raising both arms in front of his face to block anymore hits.
Jake’s next punch connected with Dean’s jaw. Then he grabbed Dean’s head and slammed it back against the pavement, causing stars to explode behind Dean’s eyes, vision blackening at the edges.
Through the pounding in his head, Dean strained his ears to hear what was happening with Sam, but all he could make out was scuffling and curses. He had no idea who was winning that fight. But he couldn’t leave Sam alone.
So he opened his eyes and sat up in one fluid movement. The pain from his ribs slowed him down, but it was enough to jar Jake off of him and send him toppling over. Without so much as a second thought, Dean crawled over Jake, landing a punch to his kidney. He flipped Jake over, and punched him in the face, hearing the satisfying crunch of Jake’s nose breaking underneath his fist. At least he could thank his father for something.
Jake howled in pain and clutched his face with both hands, blood trickling from underneath. Dean looked over to where he’d last seen Sam and saw that Sam was sitting atop an obviously unconscious Gordon, still swinging.
Ignoring the pain and the blood on his own face, he staggered over to Sam and pulled his boyfriend off Gordon just as sirens sounded in the distance.
He pulled Sam up, wincing at the pull on his stomach, and grabbed Sam’s face in both of his hands. Sam’s left eye was red and swelling fast, and his lip was split, blood sliding down over his chin and staining his teeth. He was clutching his left arm to his chest, but Dean couldn’t see any other obvious injuries. It looked like Sammy could take care of himself after all.
Sam tried to smile at him, but Dean thought it looked more painful than victorious. He threw Dean’s arm around his shoulders and, leaning heavily on each other, they made their way out of the alley just as the owner of the Chinese restaurant came running out.
“I call police,” she said in heavily-accented English. “They on their way.”
Dean nodded, squinting his eyes against the bright light of the restaurant’s neon signs. He could feel himself swaying on his feet and Sam’s concerned voice rang in his ear, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond. His vision was blurring, shapes and sounds mixing together to increase the pounding in Dean’s head.
The last thing he felt before the world went black was Sam’s arms tightening around him.
* * *
Sam wasn’t really sure that he should be at Dean’s door, but he knocked nonetheless, making sure to keep a good grip on the Tupperware dish he had cradled in his left arm. Bobby had finally let him return to work after meeting with Cheryl and gaining some sort of closure, so it had been a couple days since he’d seen Dean. It had been 48 hours, to be exact.
With two hours still left in his shift, Andy, Anson and Roland had all shuffled him out the door with some of the lasagna that Roland had made for dinner that night; Andy promised him that he would clock him out so he would get credit for his entire shift. Sam couldn’t help but smile at the actions of his friends. He guessed it was pretty obvious that he was missing Dean like a lost limb.
But what could he say? He loved the guy. And he had a sinking feeling that Dean needed him.
When the door of Dean’s apartment finally opened, five minutes after Sam’s first knock, the sight that Sam was greeted with surprised him. He’d only seen Dean’s mother a handful of times, but even he could tell that something was bothering her. Her blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking unkempt, and her eyes were nearly bloodshot, tired lines appearing around the green orbs.
“Oh, Sam, hello” she said, with a small smile on her face, some of the light returning to her eyes. “Dean’s been asking about you. Come on in.”
Sam smiled back at her, hoping the effort proved to be more successful than hers had been. “How’s he doing?” he asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Going stir crazy yet?”
Mary nodded absently, looking around distractedly. “Something like that,” she mumbled. Then she noticed what he carried in his hands. “Please don’t tell me you brought him cookies. I don’t think sugar mixes well with pain meds. Not with Winchesters, anyway.” Her smile was a little more genuine then.
Sam chuckled. “No, it’s lasagna, exactly,” he told her. “The guys at the station knew that Dean wouldn’t have anything edible in his house and, after nothing but hospital food for a month, they figured he’d want some of Roland’s cooking. You should hear Dean rave about it during meals. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.”
Mary laughed then, a high, tinkling sound that somehow reminded him of Dean. “Well, he has been complaining about the take-out we’ve been supplying him with.”
She turned and walked further into the apartment, turning into a doorway on the left that would lead to the living room. Sam followed, wondering just what he’d managed to interrupt. Mary was obviously deep in thought about something, and he was sure it wasn’t good.
As he turned into the living room, he couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of déjà vu. The scene was eerily like that in the hospital a couple weeks earlier, when Dean and his father had been arguing.
Mary cleared her throat, somehow making the sound come across as threatening, and both Winchester men turned toward the doorway to see Sam standing there. John’s face darkened at the intrusion, while Dean’s face broke into a wide grin.
“Sammy!” Dean called out, waving from his position on the couch. He was sitting sideways, legs propped up on some pillows, gray sweatpants big enough to slide on over the cast he still wore. He looked exhausted, but good. His hair was washed, and his green T-shirt made his eyes sparkle that much more.
“Do you mind?” John growled. “We were having a family discussion.”
Sam stood rooted to the spot, mouth opening to apologize profusely, but Mary cut in. “John Winchester, you will not speak to Dean’s friend like that,” she warned. “As a matter of fact, I think that we could use a break from this so-called discussion.” She turned to Sam, smile firmly back in place. “Sam, would you mind sitting with Dean for a couple hours? I’m afraid if I don’t get out of this apartment, one of these boys won’t live past tonight.”
Sam smiled at her tensely, acutely aware of John’s eyes boring holes into him. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. You two go have a nice dinner or something.”
Mary nodded back at him, moving around the room to gather keys and coats. She practically pushed John out into the hallway. Before she followed, though, she gave Sam a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You make him talk to you, Sam. Maybe you can shed some light,” she whispered.
Once the front door was shut behind Dean’s parents, Sam couldn’t stop himself from returning the smile that Dean was giving him. “God, I missed you,” Dean whispered.
Sam was across the room in four long strides, setting the lasagna on the coffee table and kneeling in front of Dean. He wasted no time in pulling Dean’s face to his, the kiss possessive and apologetic at the same time. “I missed you, too,” he mumbled against Dean’s lips.
Dean huffed out a laugh and pulled back, both hands coming up to twist in Sam’s hair. He looked down at Sam for a minute, eyes moving across Sam’s face, as though he were trying to memorize it. When Sam’s brow furrowed, Dean leaned forward and kissed them away.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, covering Dean’s hands with his own. “Did they say something?”
Dean shook his head, smiling sadly. “You know that lady’s hearing was today? She pleaded guilty, no contest. They’re sentencing her next week.”
Sam nodded. He’d known that; Anson had actually gone to the courthouse so that he could report back in full detail.
Dean didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, biting down on his lip and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, those eyes were filled with tears, green shining brightly. Sam swallowed audibly - he didn’t think he was going to like what was coming next.
“They’re pushing for me to go home again,” Dean whispered, as if speaking softly would make the situation go away. “Dad, he… He thinks that I need to be near family, near people who can look after me. I think my mom might agree with him.”
Sam nodded, turning his face into one of Dean’s hands, kissing the palm. He ran his fingers over the scarring on Dean’s left wrist. “What do you think?” he asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted the answer.
“I don’t know,” Dean responded sadly. “The physical therapist, today, said that it might be a month before I can move around on my own. Then at least another month before I’ll be in any kind of shape to return to work. That’s only if I push myself. There’s a chance that I may never be able to go back to firefighting. In Kansas, I. My parents. They’ll help me, pull some strings to get me some job that I’ll never be happy with. But at least I’ll have money…”
When Dean trailed off, Sam let his hands drop, missing Dean’s warmth when they fell back to his lap. He looked down at the floor, sitting back onto his heels. He reached down and fidgeted with the worn carpet for a minute before he ventured, “What about me?”
Dean pulled his chin up, thumb running along his jaw as he forced their eyes to meet. “I love you, Sammy. But I don’t know what to do here. I need help making this decision. I’m going to need help. I can’t do this on my own, get back on my feet - figuratively or literally,” he joked. Sam couldn’t help but smile. Good ol’ Dean.
He sobered up quick enough though, pulling his head out of Dean’s grip. “I can’t make that decision for you,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I won’t tell you what to do. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little biased here.”
Dean looked at him then with a strange look in his eyes; Sam couldn’t define it. It was part want, pupils slightly blown and pushing back the green. It was part love, emotion so overwhelming that it bled into every aspect of who they were. But, there were other things that muddied it up. Hurt. Sadness. Expectation. Helplessness.
“Kiss me,” Dean whispered, so softly Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.
“What?”
“Kiss me,” Dean repeated, nodding his head for emphasis.
Sam still didn’t comprehend. How had they gone from possible loss to a request like that? When Dean didn’t get the response he wanted, he took the action away from Sam and surged forward, grabbing Sam’s head in his hands.
Their lips met harshly, and Sam wasted no time in opening his mouth, angling his head just so to deepen the kiss. He reached up to grab on Dean’s leg, kneading gently enough not to hurt him. Dean groaned then, pulling Sam forward more, trying to press them closer together.
Sam climbed up onto the couch, never losing contact with Dean’s mouth, and straddled Dean’s legs. He made sure to keep most of his weight on his own legs, trusting Dean to tell him if things got to be too much.
His hands began to roam, wanting to touch every part of Dean that he could, blunt fingernails dragging over the roughened, sensitive skin of his back. Dean arched into Sam, causing their erections to come into contact with each other. Sam couldn’t stop himself from grinding down, causing Dean to whine, Sam’s lips and teeth and tongue swallowing every noise that passed his lips.
Dean moved one hand down to Sam’s jeans, deftly undoing the fly and slipping his hand inside once they were opened. He pulled Sam’s half-hard dick out of the slit in his boxers, jacking him to full hardness. It was dry and rough, and Sam wanted it to hurt just that little bit, wanted to remember this forever, this need that could fill them both without warning.
As precum began to coat the way for Dean’s hand, Sam broke their kiss, moving his lips down to Dean’s jaw, licking and sucking his way along the still-healing scar. Dean gasped at the feeling, rocking his hips into Sam’s thigh for friction.
Sam took pity and stopped his exploration of Dean’s body, with its new hotspots to find, and slipped one hand past the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants, smiling when he found no underwear. He started to push Dean’s pants down, and Dean arched his hips off the couch to help, never losing his rhythm on Sam’s cock. Once the offending material was out of the way, Sam stroked him in earnest.
The angle was awkward, and his wrist would be throbbing afterwards, but it was one of the hottest things Sam had even witnessed. They were in the middle of Dean’s spacious living room, big bay window looking out onto the city right behind them. The apartment was only on the second floor, allowing anyone with good vision to see exactly what was going on.
On top of the slight voyeuristic factor, Dean was writhing underneath his touch, fucking into his fist and arching his neck to give Sam more access to his jaw, to the sensitive skin there. And the noises Dean was making, small groans and whimpers, were going straight to Sam’s cock.
“S-sammy,” Dean stuttered out. “G-gonna…s’been a while.”
Sam nodded, pulling away from Dean’s jaw and blowing cool air across the scar. “I think this is my new favorite spot,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”
Dean groaned head thumping back against the arm of the couch. “Didn’t know scars were so hot. Else I would’ve cut myself up years ago,” he huffed.
Sam chuckled, moving down Dean’s neck, groaning when Dean tightened his grip on his dick. Dean was right: it had been a while. In dealing with Dean’s foray into near-death, Sam hadn’t been too concerned with sex, either with Dean or his own right hand. But now that he was actively engaged in it, he realized just how much he’d missed this, having Dean with him, under him.
He could feel his balls drawing up, his release too near. When he came a few strokes later, Dean forced their mouths together again, muffling Sam’s moan and sucking it into his mouth along with his tongue. Dean milked him through it, and then moved his hand to his own dick, Sam’s cum helping ease the way and speed up their combined hands.
Sam wanted more than just the taste of Dean’s mouth, traces of coffee lingering. He pulled away from Dean’s mouth and slid further down on the couch, removing their hands from Dean’s dick, smiling when Dean groaned.
“Shh, s’okay,” he murmured, his breath puffing out across Dean’s dick and making him shiver.
Sam smiled and leaned forward to lick a strip up the flushed shaft. Tasting his own cum had his dick twitching in a pathetic attempt to get hard again. When he wrapped his lips around the bulbous head, Dean made a small thrusting movement, letting out a long groan.
Sam held his hips down with one hand and wrapped the other around his shaft, stroking him in counteraction as he began to bob his head up and down, hollowing out his cheeks and running his tongue along the vein on the underside of Dean’s dick. Dean had already warned him that he was close, so Sam didn’t hold back, wanting Dean to simply fall apart. He was ruthless, sucking hard in counterpoint to the teasing action of his fingers, not gripping nearly tight enough for Dean’s liking.
Dean’s hands tangling in his hair, was the only real warning Sam got, considering Dean’s words were only half-formed grunts and moans. He pulled back just in time, letting Dean’s cum flow across his tongue. He stroked Dean through his orgasm, pulling off with an obscene pop when Dean tugged on his hair.
He smiled up at Dean and laid his head on Dean’s thigh, the plaster of his cast cool even through the sweatpants. Dean had a lazy smile on his face, and he was staring up at the ceiling. He was still threading his fingers through Sam’s hair, the movement soothing as Sam closed his eyes.
But then reality came crashing back.
Sam opened his eyes and sat up, tucking himself back into his jeans. Dean seemed to know exactly what he was thinking because his smile slowly faded, and they were left to just stare at each other.
“They really want to take you away?” Sam whispered after a few minutes, slicing through the tension. He couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice.
Dean nodded. “They really do,” he responded. “But, hey, I’ve got a few days to decide what to do, okay? So, let’s just not worry about it. Please? Can we just eat Roland’s awesome cooking and be us for a little while? I’m tired of people treating me differently… I just want to be me again, Sammy. And I need you for that.”
Dean looked so broken in that moment, more honest and open that Sam had ever seen him. Sam stood up with a murmured agreement and walked into the kitchen to heat up the lasagna, leaving Dean alone to make himself decent again.
He didn’t want to see Dean cry almost as much as he didn’t want Dean to see him do the same.
* * *
The only thing that Dean was really aware of as he came to was the pounding in his head. He risked opening his eyes a little only to slam them shut again as the bright lights assaulted his senses.
“Oh, hey, he’s awake,” came Sam’s voice from somewhere to the right. “Turn off that light, would you?”
There was a scuffling noise and the click of a switch, and then there was a hand brushing across his forehead. “Sammy?” he whispered, wondering where he was.
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam responded quietly. “It’s me.”
“What…where…?”
“You’re in the hospital. Don’t you remember what happened?”
It all came rushing back in one big rush - Gordon, Jake, the bat, the confession. Dean groaned, chancing to open his eyes again. He was thankful that the overhead lights had been turned off, but that meant he could just barely see Sam’s silhouette.
“What happened after I passed out?” he asked, groping blindly in the dark for Sam’s hand. He smiled when Sam linked their fingers together and bent down to kiss his forehead.
“Oh, God, gag me with a spoon.”
Dean turned his head to squint at the other side of the room. He could make out two figures, and for a minute, he actually feared that Jake and Gordon had followed them to the hospital, but then Andy stepped closer, moonlight falling against his features. That meant that the other person could only be Anson.
“Shut it, Anson,” Sam tossed over his shoulder, not looking away from Dean. “You’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, because I want some of that hot male action,” was the retort.
Sam smiled - Dean could see the outside light glinting off his white teeth - but, even in the dim light, it was evident that it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Can you guys give us a few minutes?” Sam asked softly.
Andy and Anson both murmured their agreement and walked out, shutting the door softly behind them.
A weird sort of silence settled over them for a few minutes, a tension that was unnerving to Dean simply because he had never before experienced that sort of uncomfortable feeling with Sam. The unease that had begun at Sam’s fake smile began to grow, until it was gnawing at his insides.
“Well?” he finally prompted.
Sam stopped looking around the room, letting his eyes come to rest on Dean again. Since his eyes had become more adjusted to the pale light, he could see that Sam’s face had been cleaned up. His eye was swollen half-shut, the skin around it dark and discolored. His jaw also seemed to be bruised, but his split lip had closed up. There seemed to be a sling on his left shoulder, too.
It was only then that Dean even bothered to wonder about his own injuries. He remembered the intense pain in his stomach, but he couldn’t feel that now. He just had a headache.
As if Sam could see what was going on in his head, he said, “You bruised a couple ribs. Jake must’ve been pretty good with that bat. You’ve also got a concussion, and your cheek’s swollen, but that’ll go away in a couple days. You’re on painkillers, in case you’re wondering why you’re not in a lot of pain.”
Dean nodded. “As for Gordon and Jake?”
Sam sighed. “Well. They’re in custody. The police got there before Gordon was conscious again, and Jake was still whimpering about his nose. I never thought Jake would be such a wimp.”
Dean smiled at that. “Well, I never thought a lot of things that turned out to be true about them,” he said, effectively killing the light moment, smile fading.
“We might have to testify or something,” Sam mumbled. “You’ll have to give a statement. Tomorrow or something. Doctor just wants to keep you overnight, then you’re free to go home.”
“Sammy?” Dean knew that something was wrong. There was something on Sam’s mind that he wasn’t saying. “Talk to me.”
Sam snorted. “Didn’t you tell me once that ‘chick-flick’ moments weren’t allowed?”
Dean smiled, though it was half-hearted. But still, he said, “I know something’s bothering you.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing, really. Look, you should…you need to get some rest, okay?”
Dean just nodded, letting Sam walk out the door with a small kiss. He had a lot of thinking to do, though he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going without Sam to distract him.
Gordon and Jake’s reactions were exactly what he’d been afraid of, what had made him hesitant to admit his sexuality even to himself. But Sam had made that all better. Sam had made all the bad feelings go away. And he’d still gotten attacked for it.
When Dean was in high school, and even during his two attempted years at Kansas State, he’d always wondered if being happy was worth the effort. All of his friends just seemed to get their heart broken when they were at the top of their game. That’s why he’d never bothered with a real relationship.
The closest he’d come to a relationship had ended with Cassie stomping all over his heart simply because he’d confided in her, told her that he thought he might be bi. She’d accused him of just looking for an out, screaming at him as she threw what few clothes he’d accumulated at her apartment out the third story window.
He’d left for Milwaukee three days later.
No, being happy wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth all the crap that came along with it. He was happy with Sam, but he’d always had his reservations about the relationship. He’d fallen hard, and he knew that it would kill him if he broke up with Sam, but at least that feeling would go away. It would get better. And he would much rather have it be on his terms than wait for things to come crashing down around him.
Maybe the decision was rash, but he had to break up with Sam.
* * *
Sam knew he was losing the game, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, even if it did mean he was losing money. If he actually thought about it, he’d probably find it pretty sad. He’d hustled pool to get the money to leave Missouri so, if anything, he and Andy should be wiping the floor with Anson and Henricksen.
”Dude, you suck!” Andy exclaimed as Anson sunk the eight ball.
“What?” Sam responded, startling out of his thoughts. He looked up to find all three of his friends looking at him in concern. “Sorry, guys,” he said sheepishly. “Guess my head’s not really here tonight.”
“C’mon, let’s just grab a table and order a fresh round,” Henricksen suggested, already snapping his cue onto the rack on the wall.
Sam was only vaguely aware of nodding and handing over his cue. He followed Andy over to a table in the back, accidentally stumbling into an empty chair that was pushed out too far. He sat down and took the beer that Anson pressed into his hand with a mumbled, “Thanks.”
“So, tell us what’s eating at you, kid,” Henricksen said as he sat down on Sam’s right side and Andy settled in on the left. Anson filled the chair right across from Sam, and even he was looking worried.
Sam sighed, sinking farther down into his seat and picking at his bottle’s label. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell them what was going on, especially since he didn’t really know where his head was on the whole thing. On the one hand, he wanted to be selfish and beg Dean to stay with him. He wanted to get down on his knees and grovel if that’s what it took. But, on the other hand, he knew that his parents might have a good point. Dean would need help getting around, and they were more than willing to take on the responsibility. Even if John’s attitude about the whole thing bothered him.
The real question of the whole ordeal was simple: would Sam be willing to take on the role of Dean’s caretaker? It wouldn’t be a permanent thing, but it would still be a month or two out of his life, time that he could use to work and make money. He’d already lost Dean once, and he’d been absolutely miserable, feeling like half of his body had been ripped away from him. And that had been before they’d actually admitted their feelings for each other. But now that he knew how much Dean loved him? He wasn’t sure he could just walk away from that. Dean had nearly died for him…how do you just turn your back on something like that?
“We’re not getting any younger here,” Andy said, bringing Sam out of his thoughts again.
Sam looked around at his friends, giving them all a small grin. “Sorry,” he answered. “So, uh…”
“We already know it’s about Dean, just get to the problem part of it.” Sam, Andy and Henricksen flipped Anson the bird.
“Okay, well. His parents want him to go back to Kansas,” he blurted out in a rush.
“What?!” Henricksen and Andy shouted, getting them glares from several surrounding tables.
Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, chuckling slightly. “That was my reaction too, though it was probably internally. Since we were in a hospital and all.”
Anson snorted.
“So, wait. Why do they want him back in Kansas?” Henricksen asked. “Wasn’t he pretty much miserable there?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he was. But he’s going to need someone to help him getting around, what with the damaged muscles and the broken leg. It’s going to be at least a month of physical therapy before he can walk on his own.”
“Well,” Andy began thoughtfully. “Why can’t we do that?”
Sam was sure that the look on his face would have been comical if he weren’t so shocked. “W-what?” he spluttered. “We?”
“Yeah,” Henricksen answered, nodding his head emphatically. “We’ll just talk to Bobby, make sure that there’s always one of us off to get him to his appointments and everything.”
Sam turned his gaping from Andy to Henricksen. “But, Vic…man, you hate helping sick people. Remember when your mom had pneumonia and you had to go stay with her for a few days? You were calling the station every twenty minutes for someone to complain to!”
“But, this is different,” Henricksen insisted. “For one, Dean is not my mother, which means no guilt trips. And, two, Dean’s cool, man. There won’t be near as much whining.”
Anson snorted again. “Apparently, you’ve never met Dean.”
Andy smacked Anson in the back of the head.
“Look, guys, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment, but this is Dean we’re talking about,” Sam reasoned, holding his hands up to stave off any protests. “He’s not just going to accept help like this.”
“Maybe not at first, and maybe not from us…” Andy began.
Then Anson finished, “But you know he’ll listen to you.”
Henricksen sighed. “I really hate it when you do that freaky, finishing-each-other’s-sentences, twin-thing.”
As everyone laughed, Sam looked around at his friends. At Dean’s friends. Maybe it really was that simple.
* * *
“Do you have any idea what you look like? What he looks like?” Andy screamed, storming into Dean’s apartment without preamble. “What the fuck are you trying to pull?!”
Dean winced as Andy slammed his keys down on Dean’s kitchen table, where he’d been trying to ease the pounding in his head with a nice, cool beer. Until that beer was rudely ripped out of his hands, of course.
“Dude, what the hell?” Dean yelled indignantly. “I was drinking that!”
“Yeah, you were drinking that. You’re not anymore,” Andy said as he poured the beer into the kitchen sink. “All you’ve been doing for the two weeks is drink, Dean!”
Yeah, okay. Dean could admit that he wasn’t doing so well. He’d broken up with Sam practically the second he’d gotten out of the hospital. Sam had looked a bit crestfallen, but he’d nodded his agreement with Dean’s reasoning, although it sounded pathetic even to Dean’s ears, and walked away. Dean had been out of work on doctor’s orders until his ribs were fully healed. And, since then, he’d been mixing his pain medication with alcohol, leading to some serious emotion-numbing.
Andy sat down next to Dean at the table, sliding a glass of water in front of him. Dean muttered his thanks and downed half the glass in one go.
“He’s miserable, Dean,” Andy spat out, looking Dean right in the eye. “I mean, sure, Sam’s not usually a happy-go-lucky kind of person. He’s usually pretty reserved. Or he was. Until he started dating you. He opened up then. But, now…man, he’s bypassed normal angsting and gone straight to downright moping. I swear, if he weren’t surrounded by us, he’d have been crying his geeky eyes out. He’s even stopped asking questions about everything. It’s like he doesn’t even care anymore.”
Dean didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to know how sad Sam was; that just made his own depression even worse. And, that was saying something because Dean was pretty out of it. There hadn’t been a sober moment since he’d gotten home from giving his statement to the police two weeks ago.
And he was expected to be at work the next day. With one Sam Wells.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Andy,” he whispered brokenly, dropping his head onto the table with a soft thunk. “I don’t know why I did it. I’ve been trying to figure that out since the second I did it. It’s just… We were attacked. By friends of ours! Just because we were together. I was messed up, and on painkillers and confused. I had it in my head that happiness just wasn’t worth it. Not if this is what happens when you finally get that. Andy…why am I so fucked up?”
He could feel tears slipping down his face, and he couldn’t stop them. When Andy squeezed his shoulder, they just flowed faster, sobs beginning to wrack his body. “I’m so sorry, Andy,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know…I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“I know, man,” Andy said softly, squeezing his shoulder again. “Just talk to him.”
Dean just continued to cry.
* * *
Part Five
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